


hallucinating

by stonerkun420



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hallucinations, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Weird Plot Shit, deeper meaning, inspired by a song lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-13 23:51:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17497673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonerkun420/pseuds/stonerkun420
Summary: it’s always quiet here. that’s what chenle tells himself whenever he finds himself waiting for a sound. it’s always quiet here.





	hallucinating

**Author's Note:**

> hello this is weird and inspired heavily by Elohim’s ‘Hallucinating’ it is very strange and unsettles me a lot but the story is kind of sad when you really think abt it but please enjoy nontheless
> 
>  
> 
> my twt is @stonerkun420 if you would like to talk !!

it’s always quiet here. that’s what chenle tells himself whenever he finds himself waiting for a sound. it’s always quiet here.

 

 

 

the front porch outside of the house, it’s always quiet there. where the leaves and branches of the pretty trees planted purely for decoration should be rustling in the wind. where the birds who used to tweet their morning songs should be singing. there is nothing.

the house comes with an outdoor pool area. the wind does not make noises out there, nor does the clear blue chlorinated water ripple with any kind of noise. the spa does not bubble, not even once. there is nothing.

the living room of this house is the largest, meant to be lived in, as it says in the name. there is no life. where chenle used to sit on his father’s knee and giggle when the man told him about his day. where his mother used to sing as she dusted the mantle. where the couch would creak dangerously when the boy ran and jumped on it at a high speed. also nothing.

the stairwell that chenle used to step down oh so carefully as to not place his sock-clad foot on the  single creaky step two paces from the bottom. the large window with drapes that never seems to be closed. nothing here.

finally, the boy’s bedroom. where he lays alone, atop his lavish comforters. there is sound here, but it is only that of chenle’s steady breathing as he rests.

 

 

 

he hopes that if he stays for long enough with this sleep-mask on, listening to his own breathing, he won’t have to face another silent day, accompanied by nothing.

literal nothingness.

chenle sits up anyway, not bothering to take his mask off immediately. instead he sits, for just a moment—just as he does everyday—and waits. he waits for a sound, for anything telling him he is not alone.

(the mask reminds him of what he fears most. the unknown. he doesn’t understand the word sown into the mask, but it’s pretty, so he keeps it.)

 

he sighs to himself when he hears nothing, and it almost scares him. he takes off the mask and blinks a few times, face awfully blank.

 

chenle blinks once more, and there is a tray in front of him, held by the bodiless arm of a butler he knows does not exist. he hopes it’ll help him feel less alone.

atop the tray is a mug, larger than his hands, and probably hotter to the touch than he can handle, but he takes it in both tiny hands anyway. the boy takes a sip, pulls away from the mug, and then he laughs.

there’s a little foam moustache on his upper lip, and a spot of froth dotting the tip of his nose.

(he feels less alone.)

 

 

 

 

chenle approaches the large mirror, just as he does every single day. his hair is a mess. he huffs, and pats it down to look acceptable, not that there’d be anyone of high importance to see him today, but he tries nontheless. there’s leftover makeup in his mother’s drawer, and he smiles at the sight of a pink gloss she used to wear.

with careful hands, he applies it gently to his lips, and smiles when he’s done. he looks pretty, he always loved looking pretty with his mother. he decides to quickly massage his sleep-puffed cheeks with his fingertips, (just as mother had taught him) and makes his daily trip to the living room.

 

 

 

despite the lack of sound here, the living room is one of chenle’s favourites.

there is four cushioned sofas here, and each day he rotates which one he will choose to bounce on. after all, he is home alone, and therefore has no one to tell him to stop.

 

(no one to help him up when he falls down and cries because his poor elbow aches from the hardwood floors. he giggles to himself anyway, grinning as he jumps, higher and higher.)

 

 

chenle gets bored easily, and jumping from sofa to sofa tires him out, gets old quickly. he lays upon another sofa, horizontally and facedown, his feet hitting one arm rest, and his head resting just in front of another. it’s comfortable, but still, he changes positions quite often.

it’s always the same. lay face down on the sofa, followed by sitting with his knees to his chest as he squeezes himself into the corner. sometimes, he finds himself rolling on the rugged floor, groaning to himself.

 

 

 

he finds himself at the old bar, slumped over the marble counter like a character he had seen on television all those years ago, depressed and drunk.

chenle flags a bartender over through shut eyes, and is handed a juice box (with the straw already in place) by another bodiless arm. he is thankful, and reminds himself to leave a tip next time he orders here.

he takes a sip of the juice. its apple and black-currant, his favourite. he smiles, still slumped over the countertop.

 

 

 

he’s on the sofas again, slumped over the back of one. sitting behind one on the floor with his legs propped up against it. he sits atop an armchair, and then stands atop another, exactly identical to the first.

he feels himself zoning out, and it feels like a dream. chenle knows it isn’t though, this is just his daily life. even though it feels like a dream. a very, boring dream.

 

 

 

 

(chenle plays a game of chess with himself.)

 

 

 

(he wins.)

 

 

 

 

stalking across the living room without a glance to the painting’s eyes following him, he tries to keep on moving, maybe go to his sofa to lay down again.

something’s off.

he backtracks again, and he knows he isn’t dreaming when the family of four painted across the canvas seem to watch his every movement. he doesn’t feel alone, so he dances. his pupils dilate, and he bobs his knees up and down. he plays peek-a-boo with the painting, and he knows this is the beginning of companionship.

 

(he dances and dances, and pokes his tongue out when the people in the frame tease him with their eyes.)

 

 

 

 

he’s at the bar again, tipping his head back and laughing hysterically, even if he’s unsure as to why, but that thought doesn’t linger for too long. not when everything is so funny.

his juicebox is passionfruit this time, and it makes him dance. he swivels in his seat.

(the bodiless arm of his bartender seems amused by his antics. chenle continues to dance.)

 

 

 

 

chenle lays by the pool with his favourite pair of trunks, and his favourite pair of sunglasses.

he’s super calm, content to bask in the sun for a while. yes, he’s applied his sunscreen, and he knows he wont get sunburnt. he won’t let it happen, at least.

 

(the mariachi band playing at the poolside seem content, too. the big one is dancing to his own music.)

 

 

 

 

oh, you haven’t been to the dining room yet.

 

it’s grand. there are big, fancy pillars outlining the room, and they all match the big, fancy oakwood table his father had made himself.

the eight chairs around the table are a neat touch, chenle thinks. his favourite is the chandelier though, he wishes to swing upon it someday, although he knows it is not safe.

he sits, slumped in his chair at the head of the table. he’s the only one with a placemat, a plate, and utensils in front of him. he wishes he had someone to sit across from him, though. someone he could exchange a joke with.

his bodiless friend shows up and hands him a drink in a cocktail glass, lined by shrimp. chenle wrinkles his nose but takes one anyway.

 

he looks down and takes a bite.

 

he looks up and stops chewing.

 

there’s someone sitting across from him. someone to exchange a joke with. chenle continues to chew while he moves his plate to the side for a clearer view. then, chenle gets on top of the table and crawls over to the person, ever so slowly.

they don a bear mask, and chenle studies them calculatingly. the bear mask person does not speak. chenle tilts his head, and then he grins brighter than the sun.

 

(mama bear, chenle had called the person in his head. his head hurts.)

 

 

 

 

 

chenle is on the sofa with the bear mask person now, and they sit on the couch so politely. chenle sits beside them and places one hand on their shoulder, the other waving in front of their eyes.

the pair sit at the bar, and chenle complains loudly about whatever is troubling him. he uses his words and his hands, he feels like he deserves this at least. bear mask person just listens. chenle is grateful, he hugs their legs tightly.

at one side of the pool, chenle stands, facing the house. on the other side, bear mask person does the same.

 

(chenle asks the person to pose, and they obey. chenle laughs so hard he thinks he might cry.)

 

 

 

 

chenle shows his new friend his dancing. they seem content to just watch, so he performs.

sometimes they dance together at the pool though, right next to the cheerful mariachi band.

 

(the big guy has fun again.)

 

 

 

 

 

though, at the end of the day, chenle’s smile turns to a pout.

as each member of the mariachi band seem to pop out of existence, one by one, so does his friend.

it made him sad, the way his new friend had disappeared as quickly as they had appeared, just from a simple touch to the shoulder.

there’s no one here anymore. no one at the pool, no one in the living room or in the dining room. no one in the bar, where he cries to himself and clutches an almost empty orange flavoured juice box.

 

 

 

 

i hope it comes as no surprise to you, that when chenle finds himself in the living room once more, he squeals and jumps right into his friend’s arms once they appear beside him again.

 

he climbs onto their lap and wraps his arms around them, displeased when they don’t reciprocate the action.

 

chenle pulls away to wrap bear mask’s arms around him, waiting for their fingers to interlock so they stay secure. only then does chenle continue to hug his friend.

 

 

what a unique way of suffering.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> some facts !
> 
>  
> 
> 1) chenle is whatever age you think of him as you read this, but keep in mind that he is alone and has certain behavioural patterns of a child  
> 2) the bodiless arm has rly been here all along for chenle  
> 3) bear mask symbolises a motherly bond reminiscent of chenle’s love for his mother  
> 4) no one knows where chenle’s parents are but im thinkin spain just for the sake of the imaginary mariachi band  
> 5) chenle may not even real himself


End file.
